


Bold Moves

by xmoomzix



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Smut, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmoomzix/pseuds/xmoomzix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless johnlock smut with a healthy dose of rimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bold Moves

The soft motor noise of the ceiling fan is the only sound, the blades languidly cutting through the warm air. Sherlock is a vision of beauty, laid out with his arms above his ahead, at full stretch across the sheets. His sculpted, dark curls are a lovely contrast to the crisp whiteness of the linen and John fully intends to give Sherlock his full attention.  


Firmly, John slides his hands up the rise of Sherlock’s back, to the base of his neck and then turning around and over; back down the curve of his spine, and back up for a return trip. Over and over the route is taken, monotonously slow at first, yet with a sense of urgency encumbered deep with in it.   


Sherlocks’s shoulder blades are next, then his neck. His upper arms, the slight swell of his hips and then lower still. Fingers knead into strong, pale thighs and calves; rub the soles of his feet and ankles..all the time, the intense feeling of need boils beneath his skin, skin prickling with anticipation…  


He removes his hands from Sherlock's coarse legs, moving around the bed to whisper in his ear.   


“I want to try something. Don’t be alarmed, trust me.”  


Taking a shuddering breath, John returns to his former position and kneels between Sherlocks’s feet. He is nervous about doing what he is about to do and he only hopes it doesn’t backfire horribly and awkwardly. He rests his palms on either side of Sherlocks’s lovely cheeks, feeling the muscle twitch and tense beneath his fingertips. He bites his lips before dipping down and burying his face in the the dark crevice, places the flat of his tongue against Sherlock’s most intimate area and licks.  


\--    


Where hands glide, they leave scorching lines on his skin in their wake. The quickening rise and fall of the planes of his torso and his tense limbs were John's canvas, this Sherlock knew. Sherlock had experienced the ministrations over a small stretch of time before they both gave in to a more frenzied pace in the past and often he’d wonder if there was a formula John followed or if it were simply impulse. Whichever the reason, he hardly found the strength to muster an inquiry at the present.

Wide palms press down on him and he groans as he sinks into the creaking mattress. He can hear the faint pop and twang of the springs close to his ear but pays little mind to them, attention lying elsewhere. Normally, he’d be more involved, but the thought of John running his fingers down his skin and having full reign over his limbs has his stomach quivering.  


Beneath his hips, his cock is hard and pressing incessantly against his abdomen and whenever he moves enough for air to make contact, Sherlock can feel his own precum smearing across his lower abdomen.  


A voice, deep and smooth, is close to him a moment later and Sherlock hums in compliance, grey/green irises threatening to reveal themselves in curiosity. The bed shifts, dipping under John's weight until he settles near Sherlock’s spread ankles.  


Whatever the other plans to do from that angle is mildly perturbing to Sherlock and he wouldn’t be so anxious had John not spoken words of reassurance to him seconds ago. Naturally, his mind starts to tick, running over possibilities. All thoughts come to a halt however, when palms spread him and warm breath fans over the space between his lower cheeks. For a moment, Sherlock stills in complete puzzlement, then there is sensation across his entrance, slick and hot. His body nearly quakes when he realizes it can only be John’s tongue sliding along him.   


Immediately, Sherlock hisses, eyes flying open and lips parting once more to gasp out, “ John! Oh, fuck!” The mere thought of the act renders him uttering nearly incomprehensible phrases. “I’m so–" Embarrassed is what he’d say if John's tongue wasn’t currently drawing other, more carnal sounds from his lips.  


A damp forehead draws along the pillow he presses into, fingers threatening to rip the fabric altogether. "I can’t—what you’re doing—!”  


\--  


John hums, a smile stretching at his lips in wake of Sherlock’s reaction. It was a bold move, even for him and he had considered opting out last minute but the temptation was too great. John won’t admit it but he’s thought about doing this numerous times when they have gotten intimate and now he is finally doing it, he doesn’t want to stop.  


He pauses after the first couple of experimental licks, drawing his head back a little to blow hot breath onto the quivering flesh. His hands, which are resting on firm buttocks, feel the resulting clench of muscles. John can only conclude that Sherlock is extremely sensitive down there.  


He intends to find out just how much.  


Nuzzling against the softness, he inhales the musky, masculine scent that is neither unpleasant or gross. In fact, it sends exciting jolt straight to his cock that juts against the mattress underneath. A shuddering breath follows before he presses his tongue flat against the puckered opening and licks a little more, alternating between wet circles and pointed jabs.   


Encouraged by Sherlock’s pleasured groans, his pace quickens, nudging the tip of his tongue into the small opening but barely breaching it. He repeats the process several times until his own body is pulsing with need, his cock flushed and leaking against his stomach. He rocks his hips as he works his tongue a little deeper inside, low groans escaping his throat as the action provides him with some relief.   


Each small intrusion has Sherlock stuttering curses against white linen.Time progresses and still, John does not relent; strong fingers continue to have him spread wide, while John's mouth continues to push him to the brink.  


John gives one last flick of the tongue, before he draws back, lips glistening. He presses urgent and needy kisses all the way back up the expanse of Sherlock’s body, his arousal now a raging inferno.   


\--  


Sherlock’s nearly sobbing by the time John removes himself briefly, only to settle his full weight along Sherlock’s back. His eyes have been screwed shut for so long that he sees white when he opens them and though John's face is just out of his hazy line of vision, he can feel the heat radiating off him.   


It is time.   


"Take me John.. don't hold back.."


End file.
